


something to hold on to

by celestixl



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, adam should sleep more, coffee as a plot device, edit: ronan is a Gay Sap with Zero Chill, ronan is a Gay Sap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestixl/pseuds/celestixl
Summary: Adam Parrish is always tired, and Ronan wonders if Parrish has ever heard of coffee. The result is a reckless decision and a small misunderstanding that somehow turns out ok.





	1. something to hold on to

**Author's Note:**

> title from the anchor, by bastille
> 
> have some fucking gross cliche kids in love as an early christmas present, happy christmas fourth

Adam Parrish was always tired. 

He sat a row in front of and two seats to the left of Ronan, and Ronan’s eyes were always drawn to the thin face, the bags under his eyes. On the rare days that Ronan actually showed up at 8 AM to listen to a professor whose name he didn’t even know drone on about authors that didn’t interest him (always the same -- Fitzgerald! Hemingway! They could all suck Ronan’s ass), Adam Parrish would blink blearily at Ronan as he stomped past to his own seat, looking two seconds away from falling asleep right then and there. 

Ronan had started showing up to class more frequently, recently. Not because of Gansey’s incessant nagging. Also not because of the freckles that dotted Adam’s cheeks, or the way his pen moved gracefully, incessantly, across the page, no matter how heavily his head leaned on the palm of his other hand, or the early sunlight catching on sandy hair one row up and two seats over, or the solid width of shoulders beneath a rumpled shirt.

No. Definitely not because of that. 

So when for the fifth week in a row, Gansey stumbled out of his small room, yawning, to find Ronan pulling on his boots, and said, “This might be the first time you’ll actually finish a class with an attendance rate above 50%,” Ronan only replied with, “Shut the fuck up, Dick,” and left half-asleep Gansey to make his coffee alone. 

Ronan didn’t pay much attention to what was around him -- Gansey’s words had sparked an irrational anger in his mind -- but the few students unlucky enough to be in his path scattered out of his way quickly. And then he was standing in front of the Humanities building much too early -- he could have slept another ten minutes, dammit -- with no reason to be in the classroom that early. 

He backpedaled, turning to walk around the side of the building aimlessly until the class started, and passed a girl carrying a giant coffee cup. 

Which made Ronan promptly stop, stock still for a moment, before veering left sharply in the direction the girl had come from. He knew the little campus coffee shop (from the one time Declan had visited and insisted they meet there); it was barely a two minute walk from here. And in the short space between when his mind had registered the girl’s cup and when his feet had begun to move, Ronan had made a thoughtless, rash decision. 

But he was inside the coffee shop now -- too late to back out -- glaring at the curly script on the chalkboard above the baristas heads. There wasn’t any point in reading through all those fancy coffees; at the front of the line Ronan ordered a normal black coffee in the largest size, added a shot of vanilla as an afterthought, and paid, barely even looking at the cup in his hand or at the blue-haired barista in front of him. He scowled at the cup in his hand for a long second before turning on his heel and walking back to the Humanities building. 

He snags an abandoned pen from the corner of an empty table as he leaves the cafe, and before he could say fuck it and drink the coffee himself, scrawled his phone number around the cup, large enough to be noticeable, but not glaring in its existence. 

Ronan walked up the stairs alongside the other last-minute arrivals like usual, but this time hyperaware of the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. 

Parrish was sitting exactly where he always did, head leaning heavily against his hand, the other idly clicking a pen. Ronan wasn’t exactly sure, but it looked like Parrish’s eyes were closed, even. 

That small idea was the final spur in his side, and he stomped up the aisle with his usual bad grace -- but stopped a row early. Sliding carelessly into the seat beside Parrish, Ronan set the cup on Parrish’s desk with just enough force to make Parrish startle upright and blink blearily at his new neighbor. 

“Do you ever sleep?” Ronan asked, one eyebrow arched upward, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair, one leg lengthened out from under the desk -- a carefully crafted picture of negligence. 

“Umm,” Parrish replied eloquently, then shrugged. “Occasionally.” 

Ronan wasn’t sure if Parrish was joking; he hoped he was. 

Hesitantly, as though he still weren’t sure the coffee was for him, despite the fact that Ronan had clearly put it down on Parrish’s desk, Adam reached forward, wrapped long fingers around the cup, and took a small sip. 

The fact that the literature professor started talking in the very second after Parrish’s downright obscene moan relayed the fact that yes, he did like the coffee, was both Ronan’s curse and blessing. As he tore his eyes away from Parrish’s mouth, hovering near the coffee cup’s lid, he heard a quiet, tentative, “Thanks,” from beside him.

The rest of the class passed agonizingly slowly, Ronan trying not to look over at Parrish every time he picked up that goddamned coffee. 

He was suddenly incredibly thankful of Parrish’s studiousness -- it meant he barely looked at the cup as he drank, instead keeping his eyes focused on the front of the room or his notes. 

Though, it would also be wonderful if Parrish could drink his coffee quietly instead of letting out those little sighs of contentment. 

But Ronan was gratified to see that Parrish wasn’t relying so heavily on his hand to keep him upright, that his eyes flickered to more than just his paper and the professor, that even his scrawled notes looked crisper, cleaner. It meant that the whole ordeal hadn’t been in vain. It meant the 90 minutes of sitting beside Parrish, trying very hard not to look at Parrish, while not paying a single bit of attention to the professor (nothing new), had at least come with the knowledge that maybe Parrish would go about his day feeling a little more awake than usual.

For fuck’s sake, had this kid never heard of coffee till now? 

The second the professor dismissed them, Ronan was out of his chair -- he hadn’t brought his notes, like usual, so there was nothing to clean up -- and out of the classroom, unwilling to deal with Parrish’s attentive eyes and freckled cheekbones or with the black ink he’d scrawled across the cup without thinking. 

Sometimes, Ronan hated his impulsive actions, the way his brain couldn’t -- or wouldn’t -- stop his hands and body from continuing in its reckless behavior. 

Because this -- this felt reckless. Maybe beyond reckless. Dangerous. Somehow it was worse than doing 90 on an empty freeway, worse than not knowing what he would find when he closed his eyes and when he woke up. 

Ronan didn’t show emotions besides anger and more anger, and this -- was not anger. 

He didn’t run; he walked with measured pace across the quad, hands shoved in his pockets, knowing Gansey would still be in class when he got back to their dorm. 

“Lynch! Lynch- Ronan-” Fast footsteps caught up with him, and Ronan was cursing every god in existence for every decision that had led up to this point. He turned to face Parrish when the other guy caught his arm, expression blank. Adam held out the now empty coffee cup. “Um, I. There’s a number on the side, I’m guessing the barista thought the coffee was going to be for you, I, um. Figured I should give it back in case you hadn’t seen it.” 

Of fucking course. He really hadn’t thought this through a goddamn bit, had he. 

A beat of silence, Ronan taking stock of Parrish’s outstretched hand, cup held towards Ronan, the partly uncertain, partly resigned look on Parrish’s face, then he rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment, and said, with just a bit of difficulty, “It’s my number.” 

_Fuck shit fuck dammit fucking goddammit shit fuck._

Adam stared for a long second, uncomprehending. And then a light fell over his eyes, and the resignation melted away, only uncertainty and something else, something Ronan couldn’t identify, left. 

“In that case, I think I’ll keep the cup for now.” 

And then Parrish turned and walked away, leaving Ronan with more questions than answers, but with significantly less anger towards himself and the heavens.

Maybe with a little bit of hope, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe I’ll continue this? kinda want to write that awkward first date lmao 
> 
> come yell about these nerds with me on [tumblr](http://sarghengsey.tumblr.com/)
> 
> edit: all this validation is doing wonderful things for me jsyk y'all are pushing me thru these last 3 weeks of uni before winter break


	2. paint the scene for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Parrish had walked away, still holding the goddamn coffee cup, Ronan had turned on his heel with as much calm as he could muster and walked back to his and Gansey’s shitty flat, as had been the plan. It was beside the point that his internal monologue was somewhere between his brain fist-pumping, incoherent screaming, and replaying the slight smile that Parrish had let fall across his face before he’d walked away from Ronan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am a lying liar who lies i said i was gonna write this for y’all very soon and then i didn’t. tbh this is just filler, mostly of ronan freaking out, like same, i would too if adam parrish smiled at me. part 3 hopefully coming soon, y'all are more than welcome to come scream at me on my various social media until i finish writing this. 
> 
> title from bastille’s lethargy (yes, there’s a theme here)

After Parrish had walked away, still holding the goddamn coffee cup, Ronan had turned on his heel with as much calm as he could muster and walked back to his and Gansey’s shitty flat, as had been the plan. It was beside the point that his internal monologue was somewhere between his brain fist-pumping, incoherent screaming, and replaying the slight smile that Parrish had let fall across his face before he’d walked away from Ronan. 

Now, it was 6 pm, Ronan’s phone was still silent, and he was ready to transfer schools because surely he hadn’t misread the situation, right? Parrish had been pretty clear, though he hadn’t outright said, “Yes, Ronan, I think you’re cute too and I will call or text you later.” 

He wasn’t dead, right? 

Staring at the ceiling from the couch in his and Gansey’s common area, Ronan realized that his frankly unbelievable attendance for American Lit would be returning to the Lynch average. Because he couldn’t show up to stare at Adam’s back now that he’d actually approached him. 

Somewhere on the floor, Ronan’s phone buzzed. 

Startled into sudden clarity, Ronan almost rolled completely off the couch as he reached to grab his phone from where he’d abandoned it half an hour ago. 

[from _unknown number_ , 6:19 pm] Hey, it’s Adam. Did I get the number right? 

_At least he’s not dead_ , Ronan thought to himself, and set the phone back down on his chest for a moment. 

[to _unknown number_ , 6:21 pm] yeah, this is ronan 

[from _parrish_ , 6:22 pm] Thanks for the coffee this morning, btw :) 

Ronan had to take a second and completely rearrange his thoughts on smiley faces. Instead of just one person being allowed to use them (Matthew was allowed to send Ronan as many smileys as he wanted), now two people could. 

Gansey, Blue, and Henry were all to remain on the banned from smileys list. They just looked stupid when they did it. 

[from _parrish_ , 6:22 pm] Do you mind if I call? I don’t have enough hands right now 

Rather than reply, Ronan simply called first. 

Parrish picked up at the second ring. 

“Hey, Ronan, sorry, I hope you don’t mind calling, I’m trying to cook at the same time.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

“So, umm.” Ronan could hear the sound of chopping in the background. “Yeah. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Don’t mention it. Honestly, do you ever fucking sleep?” 

Ronan could practically feel Adam’s shrug across the line. “When I have time. I’m busy.” 

Parrish didn’t elaborate. 

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“I have to work till nine; I’m free after. Do you, umm…” 

“Nine is good; where do I pick you up?” 

“I’m living off-campus, you know St. Agnes? The church?” 

“Yeah, I know it.” 

“Alright. I, umm. Do you mind telling me what you have in mind?”

Ronan wasn’t entirely sure himself, to be honest, but he didn’t want to make this a big deal -- at least not yet.

“No fancy shit or anything, don’t worry.” 

“Alright. I think I trust you.”

Ronan laughed. He didn’t even trust himself; despite the “I think” that was already a higher standard than he kept for himself. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ronan.” 

“See you, Parrish,” Ronan said to an already-ended call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the actual date is (hopefully) coming soon. (spoiler: ronan didn't know what the date was bc i don't know what the date is.)
> 
> anyways i just wanted to say that you are all so sweet and thank u all so much for your nice comments on ch 1 <3 
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sarghengsey.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reneewvlker), i am ready to yell about these fuckers at all times


End file.
